


C is for Cousland

by OtakuElf



Series: YADAA (Yet Another Dragon Age Alphabet) [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, NaNoWriMo, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair tells Teyrn Fergus Cousland that Nathaniel Howe will be overseer of Amaranthine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C is for Cousland

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta-reader, Lunamoth116!

Fergus Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, wished nothing more than to leave this pit of a city to return to his home and his mourning. Denerim had once held such fascination. Now it was a place of betrayal. Of responsibility and debt owed to a man who had come out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere, but out of the stables of Redcliffe. His king, Alistair Theirin, formerly the little golden-haired boy with a bloody nose that Fergus and his sister had watched being disciplined by the arlessa during a state visit.

Fergus could hear his mother’s “tch” of disapproval at the dressing-down. His father’s quiet reproval: “Now, Eleanor.”

“He’s a child, Bryce. And a stable boy. Why is the arlessa lecturing a stable boy in public? Why is the stablemaster not handling the discipline?” Fergus remembered what had really enraged his mother. “And why is she allowing that little boy to bleed from a head wound while she’s indulging herself in Orlesian histrionics?”

Later, he had modified that phrase, “Antivan histrionics”, and used it to tease his Oriana. Oriana, though, would have been more likely to have wiped the boy’s nose, and sent him off to bed with a bug in his ear about blocking a blow with his face, rather than a tirade about possibly damaging the fine Orlesian trade stock, and getting in the way of the rough trade who had brought the horses to the arling.

Father’s eyes had clearly seen something then, understood Alistair’s background. Fergus’s mother had as well. There had been a quiet comment between the two of them, he remembered now, about never having to worry about “that” with Bryce.

Maker, but it grieved Fergus to think about their deaths, as much as the thought of taking another wife after Oriana. He could not fathom healing from the open gash, the loss of his wife and son. The loss of Aedan - a grown man, but always Fergus's little brother - cut down by Howe’s men. A betrayal so very unexpected. Howe had been ostentatiously in talks with Fergus’s father for a match between Aedan and his daughter Delilah at that time. Aedan and Mother had died defending his father from Howe’s men when then-Arl Howe had taken over Highever. 

Howe’s reign as Teyrn of Highever, and as Arl of Denerim, had not lasted long. The Hero of Ferelden and King Alistair had deposed him in a lasting way in the dungeons of one of his stolen estates. Fergus, even now, hoped that Rendon Howe had died in hopelessness at how fleeting his hold on those titles had been. The son of Bryce Cousland had no forgiveness for Howe, nor for Howe’s family.

Tonight, he had been given word that Nathaniel Howe, now a Grey Warden himself - as though to make up for his father’s place in furthering the Blight’s destruction of Ferelden - was to be given care of the arling of Amaranthine as a representative of the Wardens. Fergus could feel nothing but rage at this scion of the Howe family’s advancement.

A momentary flash of memory showed him Nathaniel’s face as a child - thin, pale, saturnine. The boy had been quiet, especially when compared to his younger brother. Thomas Howe had charmed everyone to begin with. Especially serving wenches and bad company. Well, the wenches were charmed until they discovered themselves in the family way with nothing to show for it. Thomas had been a “print and be damned” man about his excesses, even when young.

Nathaniel had never had a reputation for whore-mongering or gambling. Nathaniel had never been reputed for pleasant attitude either. He and Delilah, as Fergus recalled, stayed quiet and formal in the background while their mother doted on the baby of the family. Eleanor had never liked the arlessa, but had drilled into Fergus and Aedan the importance of manners and politics. 

When Howe’s heir had been sent to the Free Marches for fostering, it had been no more than an incidental piece of knowledge for any of the Cousland family. Even with the close connection between Bryce Cousland and Rendon Howe, the children had been no more than acquaintances, not friends at all. Later, the scandal of Delilah’s running away and marrying an older commoner had been unimportant. 

Now, though, Fergus was enraged. Not maddened enough to beat the servants. That was not the Cousland way, though he’d heard it was how Rendon Howe had behaved. Fergus had stormed the palace, much good it had done him. It was King Alistair and not Queen Anora who had sent Teagan, Arl of Redcliffe, to the Cousland estate with the news. A kindness, if one looked at it that way. Fergus did not think that Cailan would have had the delicacy for such a notification, and Fergus would in all probability have discovered the appointment at the Landsmeet.

Theirin had met with Fergus in a small chamber, accompanied by two men - Teagan, and the King’s Assassin, as everyone in the Landsmeet called the newly-ranked Zevran Arainai. Arainai’s Antivan ancestry was no barrier to Fergus’s mind. He had, after all, married an Antivan. 

Ah, poor Oriana, cut down as she tried to protect Oren. His wife had joked that Antivan women were more adept with poisons than blades. Her herbs and tisanes had been no help against armed and armored men. Her beauty and defence of Oren had been no shield against the hard hearts of the men who had invaded their home.

Fergus did not have issue with the man’s race either. Elves were fine. The Hero of Ferelden was Dalish, after all. The alienage in Denerim had risen to support the Hero in the Battle of Denerim. Fergus himself was part of a roundtable in the Landsmeet looking into improving the alienages of Ferelden. Maker knew that the alienage in Highever was not a place that Fergus would wish on anyone. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had worked through the Chantry to make sure that everyone in Highever - elf, dwarf, or human - was taken care of in need.

The Teyrn of Highever, however, was aware that the man was a former member of the Crows, an assassin, and a most capable killer. His rank protected Fergus, but even as one of the two Teyrns of Ferelden, the man knew better than to present his throat to a knife.

King Alistair was seated, as was Arl Teagan, and there were seats for the Antivan as well as for Fergus. It was a well-appointed room. Not a study, but obviously a meeting room; the cold, grey stone of the palace was softened by polished wood paneling on the walls, and Nevarran wool carpets in bright colors on the flags. Arainai was examining several parchments handed to him by an equerry soon after Fergus had arrived, standing at a sideboard carrying crystal decanters filled with dark liquids. 

The King of Ferelden was waiting, giving Fergus his complete attention. Fergus spoke his mind. “You must be mad!”

“No.” The king shook his head slightly. “Not currently anyway.”

“You would give power to a Howe? To the son of the man who slaughtered my family while enjoying their hospitality, and stole not just their lives but all else? The Howes killed my wife, my son, my parents, and my brother. They destroyed my family and killed my friends for personal gain. And I’ll add, your Majesty, that Howe’s men were searching for you and the Hero of Ferelden to kill you as well!”

Teagan winced at Alistair’s side. He remained silent, however. The assassin was at the Arl’s right hand with a glass a moment later; the scent of Antivan brandy floated across the room to where Fergus was pacing in his agitation.

“Nathaniel Howe is a Grey Warden; the arling of Amaranthine has been ceded to the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, and as such they are within their rights to request his placement as administrator to their property. I knew you would be angry, Teyrn Cousland, which is why I asked Teagan to prepare you…give you the news before the Landsmeet.” The king’s words were not unkind, but they were unyielding.

“And now that he is one of you, one of the Grey Wardens, that makes it alright?” Fergus’s anger forced fire into his words. “Being your brother gives him carte blanche to power?”

King Alistair’s words were measured as he replied, “The Grey Wardens are forbidden from interfering in political struggles or affairs.”

“The Grey Wardens,” Fergus forced out hotly, “are well known to take what action seems to them to be expedient to get their task accomplished. It is not a secret.”

“No,” the king agreed, “that is not a secret. But this is not a political appointment, in return for favours granted by the Howe family. This is the man who has been seconded by Theron Mahariel, Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. He is trusted by the Commander, and is his right-hand man at Vigil’s Keep. He has been chosen because of his service, and because he is a Grey Warden, not because he is a Howe.”

Fergus could not keep his anger from his face. “Why are you seeking to replace Theron Mahariel then? Why can the Hero of Ferelden not continue to run the arling?”

“Fergus.” This was the first time that the king had called him by anything other than his formal rank and title. “Please. Sit down.”

Fergus desired nothing more than to spit in the face of that attempt to get on his better side. As Teyrn of Highever he had the ability to make things very difficult for Theirin - both in the Landsmeet and out of it. But the king had never been other than warm and gracious to Fergus. Aid had been given to rebuild Highever after the destruction caused by Rendon Howe, and at this moment it occurred to the Teyrn that his liege, the man to whom he had already sworn allegiance, was being kind. Fergus sat heavily in the padded wooden seat next to his king.

A glass of fiery-smelling liquid was placed at his right hand. Looking up at the Antivan who had brought it, Fergus asked, “It is not poisoned, is it?”

The Antivan gave a friendly laugh. “It is Antivan women who know the best poisons to blend with a fine brandy. Me? My skill is in other measures.”

Maker. Pain stabbed through Fergus’s chest. Tears dropped from closed eyes as he clenched the crystal glass in cold fingers. He heard Teagan explaining, “Oriana Cousland, Fergus’s wife, was Antivan, Zev.”

“Ah. Apologies for my thoughtless words, Teyrn Cousland. I was unaware.”

“She,” Fergus managed to say, “said much the same thing, ser. Oriana. That poison was an Antivan wife’s skill.”

There was silence. The Antivan. Arainai... he took his seat to make the circle of four complete. It was an uncomfortable silence while Fergus struggled to contain the overwhelming grief. Finally he grasped control of his breathing, sitting up and looking to the king. The red-gold of the man’s short cropped hair reflected the fire to the side - it didn’t do much to warm the small room. King Alistair’s face was concerned, understanding but not pitying. Fergus remembered that the man had lost his family as well - almost all of the Fereldan Grey Wardens - in the betrayal at Ostagar. 

Here was a man who had nothing but the Wardens one day, and the next had been on the run with his friends and compatriots dead and a price on his head. This man had married the daughter of his betrayer. It was generally understood that he had not sought power, but had been guided into it both by Eamon, formerly Arl of Redcliffe and now advisor to the throne, and Anora, Cailan’s queen, now Alistair’s wife. They had a reputation, the king and queen, for making hard choices and decisions that were often unpopular to begin with. Alistair was also known to be well loved by the common people of Denerim, and other parts of Ferelden.

“I cannot forget what the Howes did to my family, your Majesty.” Fergus Cousland gave his king the truth.

“I would not ask that,” was the king’s reply. There was a moment of hesitation before the man went on, “Your opinions of the Howe family will be understood by every man and woman in the Landsmeet. I do not ask for your support in this, nor your silence. I simply did not want this appointment to surprise you. Maker willing it will not be a burden to you, and you will never need to care for what goes on in Amaranthine.”

A thought came to Fergus. “Was Nathaniel one of the Grey Wardens involved in the defence of Amaranthine? When the darkspawn attacked the city?”

A nod in assent. Fergus asked more: “There were four of them? To drive off an army of the darkspawn?”

“Yes.” The King received a glass of the brandy from Arainai now, and took a small sip before continuing, “Theron Mahariel, Oghren - formerly of Orzammar - Nathaniel Howe, and Sigrun - one of the Legion of the Dead, also formerly of Orzammar. Those four led the defence of the city, and held off the attack of the main darkspawn army.

“To answer your earlier question - Theron, the Hero of Ferelden, is missing. He has disappeared. Howe, as his second-in-command, is preferable to anyone that the Grey Wardens might send from Weisshaupt. And we will not accept a foreigner as arl in Theron’s place.”

Fergus considered the ramifications of this news, sipping the dark amber of the brandy. “Yes.” That was a dark road that had led to the downfall of Teyrn Loghain, hero of the River Dane. “Better Nathaniel Howe than an Orlesian.”

A short nod. Fergus threw back the drink in answer to that nod. He stood. “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” He took his leave. Much was going on, it seemed, and it was best that he be ready for the Landsmeet tomorrow.


End file.
